The Secrets in the Woods
by violingirl05
Summary: A retelling of the story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves...well, not really dwarves, and Snow White isn't actually her name, but she does have lips as red as blood, hair black as ebony and skin white as snow. The only thing she doesn't have is her memory! And her prince is far from charming. But a year spent in a small forest village just might change everything.
1. Prologue

The little girl clung nervously to her father's hand as the priest spoke. She was always anxious around crowds, and her stiff black dress and shoes weren't helping any. She could feel the eyes of all the strangers looking at her, whispering, "That poor child," and leaning close to their neighbors. It made her squeeze her father's hand tighter and lean into his leg. He squeezed back and pressed her close.

The sky was grey and clouded overhead, and the summer air was thick around them. The priest had to shout at times to be heard over the wind gusting through the trees. The little girl thought the old man looked funny whenever his long hood and beard flipped up to meet around his nose. The first time it happened, she thought she heard her papa chuckle a bit, too. It made her feel less like a naughty child for thinking it.

She stared for a long time at the big black box in front of her, not listening to the priest or anyone else. She did not see her father look down at her and notice what he called her "thinking face". He wondered what on earth was making the wheels in that little head of hers to turn so much.

The little girl was broken out of her thoughts when Papa picked her up, poofy dress and all. He handed her a long-stemmed red rose and kissed the top of her head. "Are you ready?"

She nodded. Papa steped closer to the big box and put his own rose on top of it. "Go ahead," he said to her.

Her little fingers did not put the flower down as neatly as Papa had. Impulsively, she pressed her palm to her red lips and blew a kiss. "Bye, Mama."

"Good job, sweetheart," Papa whispered in her ear. She watched with her big, unblinking eyes as all the people she didn't know came and put more roses on top of the box where her mama was. Her eyes followed each shovelful of dirt as it was pulled from the ground and thrown into the hole, crushing all the pretty flowers.

After a while,Papa put her down in a chair and asked her to wait for him. She folded her hands in her lap, playing with the thick black skirt of her dress. She'd never worn black in all four years of her life, and she wasn't sure if she liked it.

A boy a little older than her sat down beside her. He wore all black, too, and swung his legs so his shiny black shoes skimmed over the grass. The little girl remembered seeing his pale blonde curls, because she'd never seen anyone with hair the color of Mama's favorite necklace before. She also recalled that the boy's father was very important, as everyone had wanted to talk to him, and when they did they always bowed low.

"Hi," the boy said. The little girl said nothing.

"Got tired of listening to the grown-ups?" he asked. She still didn't speak. "Me, too. They can be boring."

He was a little put off by her staring, but she was the only other kid here, and he was sick of adults either talking down to him or talking over his head. Besides, she looked lonely, even if he normaly would not want to come within a horse's length of a girl.

"My name's Felipe," he continued. "What's yours?"

"Hopie," she answered, so softly Felipe had to ask her to repeat it.

"Hopie. That's a pretty name."

The two sat in silence for a while. Felipe looked up and glared at the grey clouds effectively ruining the end of his summer holiday. Hopie still wasn't talking, but at least she'd stopped staring.

Felipe tried to make conversation. To the best of his seven-year knowledge, girls liked clothes and compliments. "Your dress is pretty."

Hopie's shell finally cracked. "No, it's not," she said hotly. "It's stiff and black. I don't like black. I wanted to wear the yellow one, but Eliza said no. Then she braided my hair too tight, and now it hurts." She took several deep breaths before gasping, "Mama liked the yellow dress. And she was good at braiding."

Then Hopie was crying, with big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks and her whole tiny body shaking. Felipe had absolutely no idea what to do. He awkwardly patted her shoulder. "It's okay. Here."

Felipe reached up and pulled the ribbons off the ends of the two braids hanging down Hopie's back. The braids were indeed so tight they didn't undravel, so Felipe tugged his fingers through them. Hopie's sobs slowed a little as the pain in her head decreased.

A drop on the top of her head made her stop completely. Both she and Felipe looked up and were met with a sudden downpour of rain as the grey clouds finally released their burden. Adults around them immediately ran for cover, but the children were unfazed, merely squinting their eyes against the deluge.

"Do you know what that is?" Felipe shouted.

"What?"

Felipe recited what his own mother often said when he was terrified of a thunderstorm - not that it happened anymore, of course. "Those are the tears of angels."

"Why are they crying?" Hopie asked.

"Because you're crying." Felipe looked at her. "They were sad because you were sad."

"I didn't mean to!" Hopie shouted at the sky. "I sorry!"

"Oh, it's not your fault," Felipe said matter-of-factly. "Angels are very emotional creatures."

Thunder rumbled across the sky, followed by a flash of lightning. "What was that?"

"Now the angels are throwing a temper tantrum. They must have broken something."

Before Hopie could say anything else, her father shouted her name and came running towards her.

"Hopie!" he cried as he swept her up in his arms. "Come out of the rain, before you catch your -" he stopped himself.

Felipe's father had also dashed over to grab his son's hand. Felipe looked back to see the little girl, her chin on her father's shoulder, staring at him, but not like before. Now her eyes were sad and wistful. She pushed her wet hair out of her eyes and waved goodbye.

"What were you talking about, Felipe?"

"Angels, Papa. We were talking about angels."


	2. Chapter 1: The Duchess

"My apologies, Your Grace," Eliza murmured.

Hope blinked and pulled herself out of her thoughts. It took her a moment to realize she'd been pricked with a sewing needle, and another to recognize the title as her own.

"It's fine, Eliza," she said. "And you don't need to use the title. I would never ask or expect it of you."

Eliza had been working for Hope's mother ever since her marriage to the duke of Caelsbridge. After Julianna's death, Eliza had taken the role of mother in Hope's life, and the girl could hardly imagine anything other than her name coming out of the older woman's lips. Sometimes she was even surprised to hear that.

Hope heard clicking heels in the hallway, and now understood Eliza's odd behavior. When a woman entered the room, Hope put a bright smile on her face, even though it was the last thing she felt like doing.

When Hope was nine years old, her father, Derek, had remarried. Hope's stepmother Evelyn was initially everything a girl could ever hope for - a friend, confidant, and mother all rolled into one. More importantly, Evelyn made her father happy, which even as a child, Hope understood. For a long time, the Caelsbridge estate was happy and prosperous, too.

But then, Derek had fallen ill, and everything changed. The duke's condition put a dark cloud over the entire place, and Evelyn had started acting strangely. She snapped at the servants, at Hope, and occasionally even Derek. She locked herself away in her private chambers for hours on end, and had strange, mysterious consultants with various official-looking men. Hope thought her stepmother was carrying on various affairs, right under her dying father's nose. Furious, she had hidden herself in Evelyn's rooms and spied on her during her next appointment, not caring what she would see if it would finally reveal the truth.

The various professionals were not Evelyn's lovers. Instead, they mixed potions and creams and applied them to Evelyn's face. The men were beauticians, each doing his best to preserve Evelyn's natural beauty and youthful appearance.

Hope's relief at Evelyn's fidelity to her father was enough to make her suppress the hundreds of questions that came with her discovery. Evelyn had never before cared for preserving herself. In fact, she had told Hope that the only way to truly live was to accept that time would eventually get the better of you, and to age gracefully.

That had all been more than a year ago. Now, Derek was gone, and after a proper three-month mourning period, Hope was to become the next Duchess of Caelsbridge, as per her father's will. Evelyn, however, had only changed even more as time passed, becoming more and more concerned with appearances and less of the caring, fun-loving woman Hope loved. Now, it was all Hope could do to spend five minutes in her company without desperately wishing she were somewhere else.

"Hope, darling," Evelyn said in a singsong voice as she sailed into the room. She hadn't bothered to knock or ask permission to enter, a courtesy Hope would have appreciated at a dress fitting. "How's your gown coming along?"

"Just fine," Hope managed.

She watched as Evelyn's eyes travelled up and down the dress several times. As she was still in mourning for her father, Hope had chosen a silver-colored silk, the brightest shade she dared go, with thin white ribbon accents at the collar, waist and wrists. The design of the gown was simple; it had a scooped neckline and full skirt, with pointed ruching at her hips to make her slim waist seem even smaller. Eliza was currently pinning on the finishing touch: white lace at the hem, that Hope herself had painstakingly knitted at her father's bedside, that had served no particular purpose until Eliza suggested it.

"My dear, that is not fine at all," Evelyn laughed. "This is your coronation - you must look your best!"

"I don't think it is called a coronation," Hope protested, even though she knew her stepmother wasn't listening. "I'm becoming a duchess, not a queen."

Evelyn minced around her stepdaughter, her lips pursed. "It's too late to change the color now - had I but known earlier...but I like the white, I can work with it. Perhaps a white gauze overskirt to bring out the shine? And definitely some embroidery embellishment on the bodice, that is a definite must. You, girl," she turned to Eliza, "See that it's done, and properly."

She cupped Hope's face in her hands. "This ceremony is going to be perfect, I promise." Evelyn kissed Hope's forehead. "Your father would be so proud of you." With that, she swept out of the room just as quickly as she'd come.

Hope sighed.

"Well, I never," Eliza grumbled. Hope smiled, glad to hear she was back to her old self. "The nerve of her, trying to design your dress as if you were nine instead of nineteen!"

"It's all right, Eliza," Hope said.

"I've finished pinning the lace," Eliza continued. "And I'll have it sewn on by tonight. I won't be doing anything else, unless you want it, Miss Hope."

"No, just the lace," Hope answered. "I'll make Mother understand."

She slipped out of the gown and put her simple black frock back on. Eliza left the room, leaving Hope alone.

For a while, Hope stood listlessly in the centre of the room, not wanting to move for fear her body might shatter. She missed her papa. He'd always said he would teach her what it meant to be in control of countless acres of land and the people who lived there - how to be fair and just and give them the best work of your life. And while he had tried, Papa had more often than not been far too ill to make much sense. In twenty-four hours, Hope was going to be duchess, and she had never felt so unprepared for anything in her life.

Even worse, she felt as if she was losing a third parent. The glimpses of the real Evelyn - the woman who kissed her brown and smiled so warmly - were becoming more few and fleeting. She didn't know how much more of this she could take.

Eventually, Hope's eyes landed on a stack of papers on her desk. Several in particular, covered in elegant black script, grabbed her attention. Hope gathered them up and read them over almost half a dozen times. The words lodged themselves in her brain and whirled in circles, faster and faster. Hope snatched up a clean sheet of paper and a pen and began to write, filling page after page as the sun dipped low on the horizon, and the sky faded to black.


	3. Chapter 2: The Prince

**A/N: Apologies for the extremely long delay between posts! I just graduated high school, and it was surprisingly emotional, to the point where I just didn't want to write. But now that summer's here I should be posting weekly. And without further ado, I bring you the next chapter!**

The door shut behind him with a satisfying _slam_. Felipe stormed down the hall, his lips twisted in anger, his eyes shooting daggers into the floor. How dare his uncle treat him like a child! He was twenty years old after all, nearly old enough to snatch that crown right off his uncle's bald head.

Felipe continued on his warpath, inadvertedly sending servants scurrying for cover. He didn't know where he was going, and didn't very much care. All he knew was that he had to get away from his uncle before he lost control of himself. Well, more than he already had.

He ended up outside, the bright late summer sun nearly blinding him. Felipe felt smooth stone beneath his feet, and his hands brushed against a sharp thorny plant. He was in his mother's gardens.

The thought of his mother made him slow his angry pace and breathe. Queen Angela hadn't been herself since her husband died in a riding accident seven years ago. It wouldn't be right for her to see Felipe like this, especially since today was one of her bad days.

Felipe found his mother sitting beneath a weeping willow tree, her favorite spot. Her back was to him and he froze, not sure if he should disturb her or not.

"Come sit with me, dear," Angela whispered, ending his indecision. Felipe wasn't sure how she'd known he was there, as she hadn't moved, but he did as she bade him anyway.

"Hello, Mother," he said quietly. "How are you today?"

"I'm wondering what my son has done now to get himself all worked up."

Felipe blinked. He hadn't been expecting this. Just that morning, Angela had hardly recognized her own son, and now she was acting like a real mother. No - she was _being_ a real mother.

"I - I got into an argument with Uncle Robert again," he finally muttered.

Angela faced him, and their matching green eyes locked. His entire life, Felipe had been told he took after his mother, although he never thought it was a difficult observation to make. His father had been dark and imposing, while his mother fair and delicate. The one thing Felipe had gotten from his father was height.

"Tell me about it," Angela continued in her quiet voice.

"It's just that...he treats me like a child," Felipe said. "And nothing Father left for me is getting done. I have no more authority in court than a five-year-old."

"Perhaps it is because you act like a five-year-old."

"Mother!"

Angela held up a hand. "I understand what your uncle is doing is wrong. Your father left instructions in his will that each year after your fifthteenth birthday you were to be given more authority, and the throne on your twenty-first. Robert has not honoured those wishes in any way. However," she laid a hand on his knee. "you haven't exactly been the maturest person, either."

Felipe flushed red. He did have a habit of throwing childish temper tantrums when he simply couldn't deal with his uncle anymore. He didn't realize his mother was aware of it.

Angela smiled sadly at him, the only kind of smile she knew how to give. "Why can't you be my son with them, the way you are with me?"

Felipe stared at the ground. "They don't treat me the same way you do, Mother. I get too easily frustrated with them."

She patted his knee. "Temper, temper. One day it will get the better of you, if you don't get the better of it first."

He sat in silence awhile, until he was sure he wouldn't explode if he saw Robert or the advisors in the halls. Felipe stood and kissed his mother's cheek. "Thank you, Mother."

"My pleasure, dear," she answered. "If you see Lisa, would you mind sending her this way?"

Lisa had been Angela's nurse as a child. She'd been dead the better part of thirty years.

"Of course, Mother."

He passed his mother's handmaiden just outside the garden's entrance. He told her about Angela and the faithful woman rushed off, willing to play the part of Lisa, if only to convince her mistress to see the doctor today.

Felipe continued to wander aimlessly for the next hour. He watched as the cook's assistants scurried about, collecting ingredients for tonight's meal. He helped a scullery maid carry a large tub of laundry down to the scullery for washing. He stood back as several footmen passed by with a heavy oak desk, their faces red with the effort. Felipe recognized it from his uncle's study, and as the footmen made their way to the library, he realized his uncle must be redecorating. Again.

Felipe tried to control his rising temper. Robert was a man who enjoyed a life of luxury and finery. His rooms changed with the seasons, holidays, and often for no particular reason at all. On the contrasting spectrum, Felipe's father Albert had been a man of simple wants and tastes. The simple but sturdy oak desk had sat in the king's study for as long as Felipe could remember, until Robert had replaced it with a more elaborate and expensive mahogany model. Felipe was pretty sure Robert spent more money on his wardrobe than Angela had back when she attended balls and gatherings and soirees on an almost nightly basis. To keep his temper down, Felipe kept walking before anyone else with decorating supplies appeared.

He ended up in the long hall dubbed "The Hall of Angry Fathers" by Felipe as a child. It was a walkway lined with portraits of all the kings in the country's history. They generally depicted very stern, very old men, although one king was hardly nine years old upon his coronation, and the more recent kings were younger men, as it had become popular for elderly fathers to abdicate for their adult sons to take over.

Felipe walked down the hall, saluting at the medal-bedecked generals, bowing to a few queens in attendance, and sticking his tongue out at the boy king, as he had always done. He stopped beneath his father's portrait. King Albert had been painted a much more intimidating man than he had been in life. Felipe rather wished they had captured his smile.


	4. Chapter 3: The Ceremony

Hope stood just outside the chapel doors, her entire body shaking so hard, she half expected her dress to come apart at teh seams. If Eliza had sewn on all the embellishments Evelyn had wanted, they most certainly would have fallen off by now.

Fortunately, Hope had managed to keep her stepmother from seeing her gown, so Evelyn didn't know her orders hadn't been carried out. Evelyn wouldn't see it until Hope walked into the chapel in less than five minutes. If all went well, Evelyn would have a little too much wine with dinner tonight, and any harsh words she would have for Eliza would be forgotten in tomorrow's headache.

Hope fiddled with the snowy white gloves at her wrists, feeling they were a bit out-of-season, but the bishop had insisted she wear them. For what reason, Hope could only guess. At least they would disguise how clammy her palms were.

Eliza appeared at her elbow, causing Hope to jump. "Ready, dear?"

Hope swallowed, then nodded.

The chapel doors swung open, and every head turned back to face her.

Hope's mouth was dry, and her body shook, and she was sure everyone could see the sweat rolling down her spine. Nevertheless, she walked forward down the aisle, her white-gloved hands folded in front of her. She had been told this was a very serious event, and that she would not smile, but a pair of faces in the crowd made her break that rule.

The first face was that of her grandmother, Lady Annamarie Colbaine was a fiesty elderly woman who more than once had pulled her granddaughter from stuffy lessons on etiquette and politics go on a grand adventure somewhere. She had lines all along her cheeks and eyes from a lifetime of smiling, and those eyes always held an extra sparkle for Hope.

The other face Hope recognized brought on more than a blush than a grin. Prince Felipe himself was in attendance, seated in a place of honour in the front beside Evelyn. Hope had not seen him very often over the course of their lives, but ever since their childhood meeting, the prince had written to her without fail twice a year - once on her birthday, and once on the anniversary of her mother's passing. The palace had regretfully been unable to attend her father's funeral, so Hope hadn't been expecting anyone today, especially the prince. Felipe had grown taller since she'd last seen him, and he wore his hair in longer, looser golden curls. Evelyn saw who her stepdaughter was smiling so shyly at and frowned disapprovingly.

Hope reached the front of the church and curtseyed respectfully to the bishop, who bowed back. He bade her kneel before the altar, and she did so, mindful of the lace on her dress. She could feel Evelyn's eyes boring into her back.

The bishop said a prayer, then began to speak about the responsibility associated with the position. He wasn't really that boring, but he had a dry, quiet voice that was difficult to hear in the back. Hope heard people starting to fidget. She forced herself to pay attention, struggling to ignore the numbness of her knees.

Finally, he turned to her, and began the vows. Hope repeated them in a clear voice, although it was not as loud as she wanted. She vowed to protect the people who lived by her name; to honour their beliefs and rights; to uphold the laws of the kingdom as fitting her rank; to report unlawful action of any man, be he king or be he poor; and to respect the authority of the king Robert III and his heirs. At this line, Hope fought to keep her emotions under wraps.

"Should I break these vows, spoken before these witnesses," the bishop continued.

"Should I break these vows, spoken before these witnesses."

"I willingly accept any punishment and consequence."

"I willingly accept any punishment and consequence."

"That should be deemed worthy by the church, the king, or my God."

"That should be deemed worthy by the church, the king, or my God."

The bishop smiled at her, finally, and bade her rise. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Duchess of Caelsbridge, Her grace Lady Hope Juliana Inada."

Everyone got to their feet and clapped politely, too proper to show much emotion, if they felt any at all. Hope wished she had something to do with her hands; instead they were folded in front of her, fingers clenched to keep from fiddling nervously. Her grandmother, at least, showed genuine emotion: she clapped heartily and grinned from ear to ear.

Hope wasn't quite sure of the exact details, but she ended up walking out of the chapel and back into the house. Somehow she completely missed the carriage ride that, just an hour ago, had felt eternal. Eliza hugged her excitedly as soon as her foot touched the drive.

"We are so happy for you, milady," Eliza said, speaking for all the servants clustered around.

"Oh, please, Eliza," Hope laughed for the first time all day. "It must be killing you to address me by a title. Use my name, all of you. Nothing else should have to change here."

"If you say so," Eliza continued in her brisk way, not giving the moment enough time to become emotional. She took Hope's arm and they walked into the house together. "Is there anything you need to do before the guests arrive?"

"No, thank you. I'd just like to be alone for a little while."

Hope made her way to her father's study - no to be hers. She wasn't sure she wanted it, and still thought of her father sitting at the desk, busily scribbling and getting ink all over his fingers as he was prone to doing. She didn't sit in the large chair behind the desk; instead, Hope made her way to the window seat. Many a rainy afternoon of her childhood had been spent in this spot, either reading a pleasantly thick novel, or watching Derek attend to the neverending mountain of paperwork. Hope sat and pulled her knees to her chest, staring at the empty chair.

Eliza was hanging up ladies' delicate summer wraps when Evelyn appeared at her side. The faithful servant managed to keep a grimace off her face, even though she couldn't conjure up a smile. "Milady?"

"Do you know where Hope is?" Evelyn asked while she checked her makeup in a nearby mirror.

She was too preoccupied with her mascara to notice Eliza's slight hesitation. "Yes, milady."

Fortunately, Evelyn didn't insist on getting the young duchess herself. "Good. Send her to me right away, please." And with that, she was gone again.

Eliza rapped on the study door. "Hope, time to go downstairs."

The door opened, and she was surprised to see Hope's eyes were clean and dry. She did notice, though, that they lacked their usual life and spark - but then again, Eliza could hardly recall the last time she'd seen that.

"Hope, darling," Evelyn claimed her the moment she entered the ballroom. Evelyn's gown was a brilliant shade of blue, adorned with frills and embroidery,,and she wore generous amounts of jewelery. Hope felt like a lone stormcloud on a beautiful summer sky standing beside her.

Evelyn gave her stepdaughter air kisses to both cheeks, then escorted her back to the group of well-dressed men and women. Hope was introduced, and promptly forgot everyone's name. They spoke very prettily to her, complimenting her hair, and her home (not her dress, she noted), asked her opinions on the latest gossip and politics and addressed her as "Your Grace". However Hope got the impression that as soon as she walked away, they would gossip about her behind her back.

Evelyn kept Hope glued to her side for the next hour, hopping from group to group, person to person, and gushing about Hope's accomplishments and intelligence to anyone who would listen. Hope felt worn out and her head swam as she tried to remember so many names and faces and titles. Who knew so many people wanted to see a little-known duchess?

"Now, this is for your own good, my dear," Evelyn said into her ear. "These are the people who will help you rise up in the world, if you establish the right connections. Connections are everything in politics."

Someone grabbed at Hope's other arm. She whirled around, and then grinned.

"Grandmama!"

Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks. She did not turn around to watch the heartfelt reunion. Who had invited the old mother of Derek's first wife after she purposefully left her off the guest list?

"It is so good to see you," Annamarie said. "My, you've grown taller! I must visit more often. I am so sorry I wasn't here sooner."

Hope didn't need her to clarify. "Oh, it's all right, Grandmama. I'm just glad you're here now."

"Yes, to see my only granddaughter all grown up and looking like a gorgeous young lady! My, where has the time gone?"

Evelyn cleared her throat. "Hope, we have more people to talk to."

"Oh, but Mother," Hope pleaded. "I haven't seen Grandmama in so long, and surely we've met everyone already. You go ahead, I'll catch up." And then she did something she didn't think she had the courage for: she turned and walked away with her grandmother, leaving Evelyn where she was.

"I can't believe I did that," she hissed.

Annamarie squeezed her arm. "What can she do? You're duchess, and furthermore, an adult. You can make your own decisions, and she is just going to have to deal with it."

Hope was still a bit tense, but she forced all thoughts of her stepmother out of her head. "I'm so glad you received my letter, Grandmama. I was afraid Evelyn would go through the mail." Well, she tried.

"So am I," Annamarie answered. "Although, I must admit, I was surprised I didn't receive a formal invitation. Evelyn and I have never been great friends, but we've been cordial to each other all these years. Perhaps it has something to do with the other half of your letter."

Hope had chronologed all the changes in Evelyn for her grandmother, starting at the very beginning. She had simply wanted someone outside of the estate to know what was going on.

"Let's not talk about her," Annamarie put a cheery tone in her voice. "Tell me all about yourself. I don't care if you've written; I want to hear you say it."

Since it had been a few years since they had last seen each other, recounting all the major events of her life would take Hope most of the night. And she would have loved to do nothing more, but she did have other responsibilities. There were important people to talk to, and Evelyn had promised her several dances to some eligible men. The first round of dancing, Hope was occupied with either social duties or dacnign. At dinner, Evelyn sat on one side of her, pointing out important dignitaries and beginning nearly every sentence with, "Now that you're duchess..." Hope ignored her as much as possible, instead speaking with her grandmother on her other side.

Annamarie drank in every word her granddaughter spoke. Three years ago, Hope had been a happy, shining example of the perfect young woman, but today...something was off. It wasn't just her father's passing; the wan, pale face and thin frame could not have all happened to such an extent in only three months. Derek never would have let his daughter work herself so hard while he was ill, either. Besides, Hope herself had written that she knew her father was at last at peace, and because of it, so was she. No, there was something else going on, something Hope hadn't even told her.

Annamarie did not get the chance to pull aside her granddaughter, though. At the end of the dinner, someone tapped Hope on the shoulder. Her cheeks instantly flushed red.

"May I have the next dance?" Prince Felipe asked. Without a word, Hope stood and placed her bare fingers in his - the gloves were long gone. A spark tingled against her fingertips, and her embarrassment grew at the thought of sparking the crown prince with static electricity.

Felipe spun her easily into the next set. Hope found him to be an excellent dancer, incredibly easy to follow. She was still too shy to look at his face, and instead focused on the buttons of his black vest, and tried to ignore how the muscles of his arms pulled against the white sleeves of his shirt.

"How are you?" Felipe asked politely.

"All right," Hope squeaked. "I think, anyway."

He gave a lopsided smile. "I know the feeling."

Her tongue loosened, Hope dared to say, "Tell me what you've been doing lately. I would do the same, but you probably already know."

Felipe grinned fully then. All the court gossip for the past several months had been about Caelsbridge.

"I'm afraid the life of a prince is far more boring than you'd imagine."

"Tell me anyway."

The first words that popped into his head were that she was in no position to demand anything from him, but Felipe bit his tongue. Something about Hope had always made him check himself, though he wasn't sure why.

"I'm telling the truth. I sit in a stuffy room all day and argue politics with stuffy old men."

She smiled a little as he spun her out and then back in. "It can't be as bad as all that."

Felipe raised his eyebrows. "Oh, but it is. There are no pretty young faces like yours back east."

Hope blushed even more. She hesitated a bit before asking her next question. "And how is your mother?"

Felipe normally felt a flare of anger or annoyance whenever anyone asked about his mother, but not this time. It did take him a moment to answer. "I think she's been better lately."

"That's good."

"Perhaps you could come visit her soon. She was not able to come today, but she likes you."

Felipe and his mother had come to Caelsbridge on a few occasions, but they hadn't been by in even longer than Annamarie. Hope was excited by the prospect of visiting the capital; she had only been once when she was a little girl.

"I'd like that. Please let me know when she's feeling up to it."

"I will."

The music ended. Felipe bowed low, and Hope swept what she prayed was her finest curtsey.

"Thank you for dancing with me," she said, all her shyness rushing back full force.

"It was entirely my pleasure," Felipe answered. He bent over her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. Hope felt her face grow hot. Why did she blush so easily?"

Felipe's eyes flicked over her shoulder for a fraction of a second before returning to her face. "If you'll excuse me?"

"Of course."

He strode off, leaving Hope gazing at his broad shoulders as he went. She was rooted to the spot, utterly transfixed, save for the small part of her brain that said she would die of embarrassment if he caught her staring.

A hand snatched her elbow and whirled her around. Evelyn's grip tightened when she saw her stepdaughter's expression.

"Hope, dear," she said, her voice surprisingly calm, "Who was that?"

The words stuck in Hope's throat. She was terrified to tell Evelyn the truth, but she also knew she was a terrible liar. "Prince Felipe."

"Prince Felipe," Evelyn repeated. She of course knew, and disliked the tone of Hope's voice. "Why didn't you introduce me?"

"He had to go. He has important business to take care of." That wasn't exactly a lie.

"Indeed." Evelyn pursed her perfect lips, and was silent a moment. Then she was dragging Hope across the ballroom.

Hope peered over her shoulder, but the prince was gone. She sighed, and wished she could disappear just as easily.


	5. Chapter 4: Flight

**A/N: I would like to apologize for the delay! I had a lot of college orientation stuff to do and then prepare for vacation. I bring you this update from a beautiful beach in Puerto Rico! **

The days at Caelsbridge began to blur together in Hope's conciousness. She spent most mornings in her father's - no, hers now - study, working her way through mountains of paperwork and sitting in long discussions with Mr. Jameson, the advisor. Her afternoons were dominated by Evelyn, who never failed to appear when Hope had a spare minute. Every time, she never failed to criticize some small detail.

"Oh, dear, honestly," Evelyn tsked. She began busily rearranging the hair that had spilled from Hope's simple braid. "Couldn't you have done _something_ with your hair?"

Hope didn't answer. She hardly had the energy to get out of bed in the morning, let alone think about her hair and cosmetics. Besides, the only people she ever saw where the advisor and Evelyn, so what did appearances matter?

"Perhaps I ought to arrange an appointment for you," Evelyn mused.

For an instant, Hope thought Evelyn had noticed the dark circles under blue eyes, the hollow cheeks, the pale skin. But then she continued, "I know Stephen is available tomorrow."

Stephen was one of the many beauty specialists who disappeared for hours into Evelyn's chambers every day.

"I'm afraid I'm not available tomorrow," Hope mumbled. "Thank you anyway." She knew Evelyn's generous offer would be forgotten by tomorrow.

Evelyn pressed her lips together in a thin line, no small feat, as they were perfectly plump and pouty. Hope had given up trying to keep track of all the recent physical alterations Evelyn had made to herself.

"Now, about your new wardrobe, dear..."

Hope was saved from trying to recall if she had indeed ordered a new wardrobe by Jameson. "Milady, Your Grace," he bowed politely. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, but your carriage is waiting."

"Oh! Yes," Hope said brightly. "Let's be off, then." With a cursory wave over her shoulder, she bustled off.

Evelyn watched her go, a disapproving look on her face. With only a few words, Hope managed to put the advisor completely at ease, and she herself had more energy than Evelyn had seen in a long time. Evelyn remembered the coronation dinner, where, despite Hope's drab appearance, people praised her. "So much like Julietta she is," they'd all gushed. "Intelligent and thoughtful, and a beauty besides."

Evelyn felt her brow furrowing even deeper when the image of Hope and Prince Felipe dancing flittered across her memory. She stopped all these thoughts abruptly and relaxed her face the way Stephen taught her. She couldn't afford any wrinkles.

Eliza met Hope at the waiting carriage, a big smile on her face. "Are you ready?"

"Anything to get away from Evelyn," Hope said the words before her brain could check them.

Eliza didn't say anything, but tossed the grand house a surly look behind Hope's back.

The carriage traveled down the drive and onto the dirt road. Eliza told Hope all about her new grandson, ever the proud grandmother, though she tried to appear modest when Hope insisted they visit for part of the afternoon.

"You won't escape it, Eliza," she laughed, "So either agree, or tell me what horrible quality your daughter-in-law possesses that would keep you away."

"She only has perfect qualities," Eliza insisted. "Or I wouldn't have let her marry my son."

The carriage stopped in the town square after about a fifteen minute drive. The people going about their daily business all paused and stared at the new duchess as she climbed out, and were very delighted when she waved cheerily at them.

Hope, Eliza and the driver went into the first shop in the square, a cobbler's. The poor man jumped nervously at the sight of her, and bowed several times until Hope asked him to stop.

"I simply wish to ask you a few questions, if you can spare the time," she said.

"Of course, Your Grace! Anything," the cobbler answered, twisting his felt hat in his hands as he tried not to bow again.

"You are sure you can spare the time? You can work as we talk."

"Yes, Your Grace. My assistant can handle things."

Hope turned to the driver. "Would you kindly escort Eliza to her grandson for me?"

"Now, Miss," Eliza said in her sternest tone. "I said I would accompany you today and I meant it."

"That was before I heard about this darling baby boy," Hope answered. "So go. I'll be perfectly fine here with this gentleman." She was a little surprised to see the old cobbler blush as red as a peony.

Eliza only hesitated a second more before she left, a happy smile on her face.

The cobbler, now feeling his responsibility to the duchess had doubled, nervously brought her to a little room in the back of the shop, offering tea. Once settled, Hope discreetly brought out a little notebook and pencil.

"Now, my good sir," she said, "the purpose of my visit is to inquire about the health of your business."

The poor cobbler blinked. Obviously, this was not what he had been expecting. "I'm sorry, Your Grace?"

Hope waved a hand to encompass the entire building. "I want to talk about making shoes."

He visibly relaxed. Hope took it as a sign to begin. "How difficult was it for you to establish your shop and reputation?"

"Very easy for me. My grandfather started the shop. At the time, Caelsbridge was in desperate need of a cobbler, and my grandfather already had a reputation as a good worker from the neighboring town where he had been an apprentice. My father inherited the store, and then I did."

"So business has been well?"

"Oh, yes, always."

"You have no desire to expand then?" Hope asked. She refrained from writing too many notes, wanting to keep the meeting very conversational.

"No." The cobbler had become quite relaxed by now. "This has always been a family business, and always will be."

Hope smiled. "Family is very important, yes?"

At the end of the meeting, Hope asked to be fitted for several pairs of new shoes. The guard then escorted her to the next shop, a tailor's, where she repeated the process.

Hope wanted to isolate the problems in the rather delicate Caelsbridge economy and repair them to the best of her ability. The best way she knew of doing that was talking to the masters of economy themselves - merchants and sellers - and see what issues, if any, existed in their personal areas of commerce. Any overlapping problems would show where the government had gone wrong.

Not only did Hope learn a great deal about the economy, but she also received an education in the social workings of her town. When she was ushered into the more rustic, common shops, she was treated more like a member of the family than a customer: Hope had never been treated to a more delicious array of biscuits, teas, and sweets. In the higher end shops, Hope was regarded as a well-respected customer, and the owners were more interested in showing her their latest imports than discussing the state of their finances. She wasn't sure it sat well with her.

At the end of the afternoon, the carriage took Hope to Eliza. Eliza's son lived in a modest little house just outside of town, and the master of the house himself greeted her at the door.

Hope found Eliza in the parlour, speaking with her daughter-in-law about very factual baby things. Hope sat feeling a little lost until Eliza's son placed a bundle in her arms.

The bundle turned out to be the most adorable baby Hope had ever seen. Granted, she'd only seen three other babies up close, but they had all been red-faced, screaming, rather scrawny things. This baby was fat, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, staring at her with intense, brown orbs.

"He's so cute," Hope breathed. She felt more relaxed with this little one in her arms than she had in months.

A tiny hand fought its way out of the blue blanked and waved. Acting on some unknown instinct, Hope reached out to take it. The baby latched onto her finger and squeezed with surprising strength.

"He's a dear, isn't he?" Eliza asked.

"Yes." Hope looked to the baby's mother. "You have an adorable baby. Congradulations."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Hope noticed the dark circles under her eyes. "Perhaps you should visit more often, Eliza. That is, if you would like her around."

The mother looked incredibly relieved at the very idea, despite Eliza's protests, but Hope ignored her, and arranged a sort of schedule with her son and daughter-in-law. Hope knew Eliza was too stubborn to admit that she was more than happy with the arrangements.

All too soon, it was time to leave. Hope handed the now-sleeping baby back to his mother and left with Eliza. Eliza wanted to know everything Hope had learned that day, and Hope was more than happy to oblige. The baby had put them both in good moods.

Hope thought perhaps she would go to bed in her excellent mood and get a peaceful night's sleep, but she was wrong. Evelyn appeared at the door to her bedroom.

"Oh, good!" she said. "You're not asleep yet. I'm glad I caught you. Come with me."

Hope raced to keep up. "Is something the matter?"

"Yes," Evelyn answered. "It's you."

Hope froze.

Evelyn laughed brightly. "Oh, Hope dear, you're so serious!" She squeezed Hope's shoulder. "It's your wardrobe, and your cosmetics. It's high time we did something about it."

Hope kept walking, but her apprehension remained.

In Evelyn's private chambers was an entire shop's worth of different creams and potions, powders and lipsticks. Stephen and another of her assistants, Bruce, were there as well.

Hope sat cautiously in the chair offered her. "Stephen and Bruce have graciously given their time tonight to help your appearance. So listen to what they say." The tone of her voice said it would be dangerous to refuse.

So Hope sat. And suffered. For three long, tortuous hours.

She was poked and proded. Plucked and fluffed and primed. She sat with one lotion on her face, only to wipe it off and replace it with another. The worst was remaining still while Stephen held someting very hot over her eyelashes. Her lips were plumped painfully large, her hair pulled back and up and pierced with pins and slicked into place with a strange sticky substance, and her fingernails cleaned, polished, and filed to perfection, including the skin around them.

When it was finally over, Stephen handed her a large, ornate handmirror. Evelyn was gushing and singing praises, but Hope didn't hear her. She was terrified to look at her reflection.

The mirror didn't show her usual red-lipped, too-pale face, framed by black hair. Her lips were now well and truly bloodred, and looked like a huge gash across her face. The pallor acquired from too many days by a sickbed or hunched over books had been equalized, with a blush painted on her cheekbones that made her appear perpetually embarrassed. Her eyelashes were too long and black, and the thick blue powder on her lids made her eyes look disproportionately large for her face. It didn't help that her hair was pulled back so tightly as to make her forehead seem twice as wide.

Hope supposed that if only one or two things had been done to her face, the effect would have made her beautiful - or at least more pulled together. However, all of them at once only made her feel like a child playing dress up in her mother's closet.

"What do you think?" Evelyn asked.

Hope remembered her manners. "It is definitely something new. Thank you."

"Your wardrobe, of course, is something we must discuss, but that can wait until morning. You need your beauty sleep, you know."

"Yes, of course," Hope mumbled. She stood and woodenly cursteyed at the men. She let herself out of Evelyn's rooms and stumbled down the hall. Blessedly, she made it back to her own room without anyone seeing her.

Immediately, Hope went to work scrubbing off all that makeup at the washbasin. She fumbled around in her hair to find all the pins, and did her best to wash out whatever sticky product had been used. When she at last looked herself again, Hope set to work on a new mission.

Her plainest clothes were thrown into a burlap sack, and she wore as many layers as she could stand. Her hair was braided down her back, and a bit of dirt from a potted plant was smeared on her cheeks.

When Eliza opened the door bright and early the next morning, she found the bed neatly made, and the curtains blowing in the breeze from the open window. Panic seized her, until she saw the notes on the desk. One had her name on it. With trembling fingers, Eliza broke the seal and began to read.

_Dearest Eliza,_

_I am terribly sorry to have done this to you, but I simply cannot bear it any longer. My stepmother has at last drawn and crossed the line, and she is no longer the woman I grew up with. Last night she tried to make me up as her, with all her beauty potions and strange elixers. After that experience, I no longer feel safe or welcome to do as I please in my father's house. I cannot have her distracting me from carrying on my father's good work. As it is unfair to ask a recently widowed woman to leave the house of her late husband - indeed, Evelyn has no where else to go - I have left for my grandmother's. I do not wish for Evelyn to know where I am. When I am safely settled at Grandmama's, I will write to let her know all is well, if she was worried._

_However, I wish for you and the rest of the household to carry on as usual. Do NOT refrain from seeing your family because I am gone! Mr. Jameson can care for things for the few days it will take me to travel, and once I arrive, I will continue the work I swore to do. The only task I ask of you is to post the letter to my grandmother, so she knows to expect me. _

_Please do not worry about me. I know the way like the back of my hand. Once my head is clear, I will return to Caelsbridge - hopefully, it will not take long. Please write and tell me all about your adorable grandson!_

_Ever Yours,_

_Hope._

"Oh," was all Eliza could manage. "The poor dear. She's just not right - that horrible Evelyn - it's just not right."

But, she thought, perhaps it was for the best. Hope had not rested her body or mind since her father had become ill, and maybe Hope's absence would bring back the Evelyn they all missed. Oh, but she would worry, how could Hope possibly think she couldn't? Although she was a clever one, demanding reports on the baby.

With a sigh, Eliza did all she could do: she pocketed the letters, closed the window, and shut the door behind her, fully prepared to tell Evelyn that she hadn't the faintest clue where Hope could be.


End file.
